Tirer pour Tuer
by Nadiya d'Espaigni
Summary: Shoot to Kill. A rag-tag Mafia comes together to solve the murder of mobster underling Marco Boldt. In this multi-chapter fiction Boss Rivialle not only discovers the backlash that comes with a life of crime but the atonement that he must pay for his sins. Based in 1920's New York City.


_**- — —All things had dissolved. Erupted. Dismantled into some shell of its former glory to which Hanji was a stranger. The dazzle became devoid of it's luster, and his crown had begun to rust. It was over. — — -**_

The room filled with the thick stench of heavily perfumed cigar smoke, dimly lit, curtains drawn, perfect meeting place for beings devoid of the comforts of daylight. They were all just rats looking for a crumb. Piano music drifted through the walls from the lounge they were occupying, a slow melancholy tune. Rivaille was actually listening intently to every chord, but the Boss in front of him kept talking, and talking, and talking. Spinning webs of obvious lies, so obvious, in fact, it was laughable. But, he let this petulant man make his case, a fair trial by underworld means, even if Rivaille had decided the outcome before this bulbous form squatted in his leather sway-back chair. The man knew he was boring him. Knew at this point it was fruitless. If anything he was prolonging the inevitable, but he knew his time had run out.

"I don't drive a hard bargain, Sir. I just need a few g's so I can.." he pleaded.

"I've heard enough. What do you think this is, Julian, a charity? I didn't put you in charge of trafficking so you could spend all my money. I put you there, because I thought you were capable. I was obviously a fool to have believed that, and you know I don't like playing the fool." The blood drained from Julian's face, the ash from his cigar fell unnoticed against his trousers and the air grew stagnant. His fate was sealed. It had been before he walked in the door.

"Hanji, clean him up. I'm tired of looking at filth." Rivaille spoke, pulling a cigarette from his blazer pocket. Meanwhile, she was cleaning up his mess, as always, and it brought a slight smirk to his face. Hanji was his right hand, the bullet in his pistol. Even in that short dress, a feather in her hair, and heels strapped to her feet, she was bone tugged on Julian's sleeve, that permanent look of wonder innocently painted on her face. Her bright red lips curved up in a smile, she was grim reaper and angel all in one. She pulled him outside, and he went compliantly. A defeated man.

Rivaille propped his feet upon his desk, leaning back, taking a long drag from his cigarette. Smoke gently flowed from his nostrils and danced into ghostly patterns in the air. He closed his eyes, flicking the ash onto the carpet. He heard a "pop" and another in quick succession. _"Sloppy"_ he thought. Since when did she use two bullets?

Hanji came back in the room, her back pressing the door shut behind her. Her expression the same childish wonder even after she had watched life drain out of a man's eyes, his blood sprinkled across her cheek. To her it was research, an ongoing adventure for a discovery she would never make in her lifetime.

"He lived longer than the others. It took two bullets." She derived out loud, a slight laugh escaping her crimson lips. Rivaille hadn't opened his eyes, but allowed instead a slight grin to place itself on his mug. He took another drag of his cigarette, blowing smoke into the already ashen air. He heard her beads rustle before her weight filled his lap.

"Hn." He grunted, feeling her take the cigarette from him.

"I thought you liked it when I sat on your lap, Boss." She spoke, taking a drag.

"I was thinking." He admitted. A cruel mistake on his part, although how cruel he couldn't guess. Hanji was strange, and that's what initially attracted him to her. She thought differently, acted out of pure intellectual disposition. He caught the scent of singed fabric, noticing the cigarette butt had made a home on the floor. All at once he felt the full force of her lips on his, creamy and wet with their thick lipstick. The smoke filled his mouth before her tongue could, swirling the vapor between them, letting it flow from their nostrils in a dance no on could epitomize. She pulled away, chocolate hued orbs searching his flat ones.

"How strange." She uttered, a puzzling look filling every inch of her face. She brought her thumb up and wiped the crimson from his mouth, taking her time to flick his lip in the process. "It doesn't even phase you… From what I've researched men would usually have responded differently." She teemed with questions, and this amused him to no end. He ran his fingers through her mahogany tresses, grabbing a fistful before bringing her face to his level once again. His normal, emotionless expression hid the amusement that was only hinted in his flat onyx hues.

"I'm not just any man." he mused, digging his hands deeper in her soft locks. Their lips locked once again, and this time he had adapted to her games.

Her taste bit him with a sharp cinnamon flavor. Their tongues played tug of war just long enough for her to situate herself properly, straddling his lap. Both his hands found themselves entwined in her hair, roughly removing pins and perfectly placed ornaments to set the tresses free; she pressed her full weight against his chest. The leather chair screeched under their pleasure. Their lips in a deadlock, struggling to find the surface for a breath of air. They may have been wild, but they weren't sloppily done. Each kiss, as forceful as it was, was just as gentle and in the same way. That's how they worked, hard and fast, and it reflected itself in their five-minute passions. She managed to break away just long enough to adjust her glasses, deciding they were a burden and threw them to the exile of the carpet next to the burnt-out cigarette.

"Well, I guess my hypothesis wasn't 100% correct after all" she stated, letting her icy fingertips explore the mysteries beneath his sharp,pinstripe suit. He cocked his head, letting his palms cradle the back of her neck, "Oh?" he mused.

She laughed lightly, her hand gesturing in the air. "Your right in the sense you're not like other men, but wrong in the typical sense that you aren't aroused by this." She awaited his answer with hopeful eyes.

"Hanji, if it's research you want. I would make one hell of a test subject." he retorted.

The piano music filled the room, but with a lighthearted melody that was a perfect match for their gratifying session. But the door sounded out three knocks, and they would have to continue their play another day. Rivaille sighed huskily "One minute.".She brushed her fly-away hair down, pinning it back as she raced to answer the door. She peeked through the keyhole, and huffed lightly. "It's Jeager Boss."she said opened the door and the young man threw himself inside, sweating and out of breath. He had obviously been in a hurry to get here. Rivaille cringed at the grime he had tracked in here.

"What is it Jeager you know I'm.." he started to say busy, but was abruptly cut off my his underlings sharp tone.

"Marco is dead."

Now that, caught his attention.


End file.
